“Or maybe there ain’t no such animal,” said Laurie. “I always did sort of doubt that any one could have a name like Goupil. It—it isn’t natural, Ned!”
“Oh, well, as Bob says, ‘All’s swell that ends swell,’ and Miss Comfort’s satisfied with the way it’s turned out, and so we might as well be.”
“Sure,” agreed Laurie. “We don’t own it.”
In front of the school entrance Mr. Wells’s blue roadster was standing, a bit faded as to paint, a bit battered as to mud-guards, but having the self-assurance and poise of a car that has traveled far and seen life. Laurie, to whom automobiles were ever a passion, stopped and looked it over. [“Nice old bus,” he observed,] laying a friendly hand on the nickeled top of the brake-lever. [“Let’s take a spin, Ned.”]
[“Nice old bus,” Laurie observed, “let’s take a spin, Ned”]
Ned laughed. “Think you could drive it?” he asked.
“Why not? I don’t believe it’s locked. Kick on the switch, push down on the starter, put her into first—I wonder if the clutch works the same way as dad’s car. Yes, forward, back and across—All right, let’s go!”
Ned pulled him toward the gate. “You’d better come along. First thing you know you’ll be yielding to temptation, old son.”
“I sure would like to try the old boat out,” acknowledged Laurie. “Some time he’s going to look for it and find it missing. He’s always leaving it around like that, putting temptation in my way!”